


Before Him

by Calesvol



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, can't stop won't stop, these two are Destroying me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: Cor is recovering after he takes a hit from the Cerberus attack. Noctis wonders if his life was really worth it.





	Before Him

He never saw his father die. When the reports had come in, Noctis could still remember how jarred everything had become, that Insomnia could fall in a night and his father–was dead. The last he ever saw of the man was him smiling with all the hope in the world. A man who wore it like strength with it astride on Noctis’ shoulders, seeing his son off to a wedding he’d never see, for happiness that would never come. The bride was dead. The father was dead. All that was left was the son.

But, the pain was still fresh. As if it’d never scabbed over, even after ten years incubating a power said to rival that of the gods themselves. You could take salt and scour away the thin bandages and there would still be wounds, raw as the day they’d been inflicted. 

This is what he’d been taught through experience, even if his father hadn’t lived long enough to do that for him. 

In the bunker beneath the streets, two souls shared a room, but only one was aware of that occupancy. Of the dim beat of a heart while its body was remanded to rest while restoratives healed him of his affliction.

Noctis sat in that rickety chair in his kingly raiment, looking like a brooding gargoyle perched on the narrow eaves of a cathedral dimmed by a rushing rain. All silhouette and grimness as he cast ashen blue eyes to stare at the rise and fall of the marshal’s chest.

12 years and he still wasn’t used to it. The language of loss. Watching things ripped from you until you had so little left, it could be snatched away and death would be the sweetest motivation. He wanted to save the world. He did. But what would be left when it was chipped away so severely that there wouldn’t be anything to save?

Muffled coughing roused Noctis from his miasma, lifting his eyes and looking so human as they rounded hopefully, painfully betrayed as the marshal’s chest spasmed with every cough. Wordlessly, Noctis procured a glass of water and offered it to the gradually waking man, Cor smiling wryly when he saw who it was. “Thought that was my job.”

“What, bringing people glasses of water? Maybe I should change your title once we’re through with this,” Noctis rejoined with a sad sort of amusement, a kind that didn’t escape Cor’s sharp notice when Noctis steadied the glass to help him drink. It was a strange thing to see a king do, easily. Cor only laughed warmly once he was finished slaking a parched throat.

Noctis suddenly grew quiet, head bowing and lips pursing grimly, gaze inscrutable as Cor watched him in furrowed concern. “You’d think it’d be easier. Getting used to the idea of losing people. I’m king. Don’t kings lose people all the time?”

“A good king saves who he can. He looks to what’s important,” Cor interjected once he found his voice, lips thinning despite the lack of severity in his tone. By how Noctis struggled to keep a stiff upper lip, maybe it’s just not what he wanted to hear. Or even needed to. “…You’re not a bad person for wanting to save those close to you.”

“I’ve already lost so many. Nyx, Luna, just–so many people. What kind of king am I if I can’t see past that? You’ve lost people, too. Hell, you almost lost your life trying to save mine,” Noctis continued, bowing his head. He was so close to Cor’s bedside. So close, close enough–

That firm hand enveloped one of Noctis’, grip still weak after the damage he’d endured. Those azure eyes were watery with emotion, smile thin and strained but so genuine it made Noctis’ heart ache. “Do you really think that was in vain? There’s no greater honor than protecting your king.” 

Noctis’ eyes fluttered shut as he fought back a crippling wave of sentiment, held back through the decade. Rising from his seat, no longer a sulking shade, he leaned over Cor like a reaper and brushed his lips to the man’s brow, a slow sentiment that weeded through the marshal’s psyche like fire. 

“I want to be worthy of that, Cor–I do. I just don’t know if I’m there yet,” Noctis admitted softly, stubble brushing skin as his lips withdrew and he hung over Cor like the moon, bowed but not bent or broken. 

Cor wanted to weep. Gods knew he did. Ten years of waiting and waiting for a king some thought would never come, who had consigned them to the darkness and sometimes it was hard to have hope. But, he had. That inkling desire, that candle flame had kept him warm and burning when, for some, it’d been extinguished. Noctis didn’t see it, but he was king. He was so much so Cor's chest ached with a pride and relief that weighed against each other. 

“You’ll see it, Your Majesty. Soon. You’ll come to see what I do.”

And when it came, he swore it was then dawn would break.


End file.
